My parents went away for a week and will return tomorrow. For days I’ve had the house to myself, and I came and went as I pleased. At the beginning, I thought of inviting someone to spend the night with me, perhaps Daniele, who contacted me a couple of days ago, or Roberto, or perhaps I would dare call Germano or Letizia – someone, in other words, who might keep me company. Instead I enjoyed my solitude; I stayed by myself and thought about all the beautiful things that had recently happened to me, as well as the ugly ones.
I know, Diary, I’ve hurt myself, I’ve had no respect for me, for my person, which I say I love so much. I’m not so sure I love myself as I once did: a girl who loves herself doesn’t let her body be violated by any man whatsoever, without a specific reason and without even any pleasure. I tell you this as a prelude to revealing a secret, a sad secret that I foolishly wanted to hide from you, deluding myself that I’d forget. One night while I was alone, I thought I’d cheer myself up and get a little air, so I went to the pub where I always go, and after a few beers I met a guy who chatted me up, in a way that was neither nice nor courteous. I was drunk, he turned my head, and I gave him free rein. He brought me back to his place, and when he closed the door behind me, I was overwhelmed with fear, a tremendous fear, which my drunkenness enabled me to repress immediately. I asked him to let me go, but he wouldn’t, compelling me with his tiny crazed eyes to undress. Frightened, I did it, and then I did everything he ordered me to do. I penetrated myself with a vibrator he thrust into my hand, and I felt the walls of my vagina burn, felt the skin tear. I cried as he offered me his little, flaccid member. He was holding my head, and I couldn’t avoid doing what he wanted. He couldn’t come; my jaws, even my teeth were aching.
He threw himself on the bed and abruptly fell asleep. Instinctively, I looked in the bedside table and expected to find the money he would’ve owed a good whore. I went into the bathroom and washed my face without deigning, even for a wretched instant, to glance at my reflected image. I would’ve seen the monster that everyone wants me to become. I can’t allow myself to become that, I can’t allow them to want it. I am dirty; only Love, if it exists, can cleanse me again.